Blood Red Rain
by PinkWhirlWind
Summary: Gojyo brings Hakkai home after finding him in the woods... first part of ep fifteen.. first person
1. Default Chapter

Blood Red Rain 1/?  
  
By Nix Winter  
  
Disclaimers: I don't own Saiyuki.. or any of the nifty characters, but I do own this story and might make it over original.. but I was thinking about ep 15 when I wrote this, the flashback where Gojyo finds Hakkai  
  
Warnings: strong language.  
  
The rain could have been blood that night. My mother's hatred and rejection could eat at me like acid, like it could eat me away, years after she was gone, just wear me away from the inside of my veins through to my skin. Sometimes I wish it would.  
  
It was hatred that drove me from the bar that night, made me leave profits on the table. Beautiful eyes, beautiful hair, her words boiled the acid in my veins. It was because her words were empty, because no one that mattered would ever say those things to me. Even if they did, as I walked into the forest that night, I didn't believe I'd ever listen to them, even if they did say something like that again.  
  
I didn't know how badly I wanted to be saved that night, the night I found him laying there. Blood crept over the mud, as if the dirt would shatter under the weight of holding him as he died. I didn't want to care. We were just there in the woods, the mud clinging to my fingers as I lifted him.  
  
He didn't weigh much, this man, as he shivered against me, his blood soaking into my clothes. I'm only half fucking human, okay. That's why I was thinking about how soft his hair was where his head rested against my throat. That's why his life became so important to me, as I carried him back to my apartment, right?  
  
There was something about him, even in a coma, it clung to him. Loyalty, sweetness, it clung to him, to the way only made very small sounds as I did what I could for the wound in his belly. Me? I would have woke up and beat the shit out of someone, if they had the nerve to be shoving my guts back inside me, binding my spirit back into my body. It was just, I couldn't help myself. Each time I put the wet cloth to his mouth, cleaned the wound, each time I fucking touched him, I felt, cleaner somehow, good. It was better than winning at cards, better than any empty words any pretty girl had ever given me. I soaked his response to me up, saved them away deep inside me. The way his cheek turned and pressed into my fingers, touching me from some instinct in his soul.  
  
I spend a lot of time talking about love. I've said words of love to half the women in this town, and quite a few others. I love you. I adore you. You're more beautiful than moonlight on water. That's a pretty big compliment coming from a guy who's life is water. He's been sleeping in my bed for a day, and I'm watching him sleep, my thumb lightly pressing to his lips, his breath against my skin, and I feel, human somehow, some emotion that is the bastard kid of love and acceptance.  
  
It'll all go away when he wakes up. He'll call me a fucking pervert, if he has any clue at all what my heart and body are feeling for him. Hell, I'll just do it for him. I'm a fucking half breed pervert. There it is, that acid and self hate in my blood.  
  
I wonder what color his eyes are. He's got dark hair, so must be brown eyes. It's such soft hair. I should know. I washed it on the third day he was in my bed. He's in my bed. I'm sleeping on my floor and I don't want him to wake up. I wonder what his voice sounds like.  
  
On the fourth day, his fever got hotter than I could control, and I went for the only doctor in town. Nothing was important to me. That idea is something that I'm real attached to, and yet, I hurried. I worried. I paid money to have him cared for. And then I sat with him. No smoking. It was sit with him, no smoking, or go outside and smoke. Each time his chest rose, the acid hate in my blood was held back though, and so I sat there, slept there on the floor. My dark haired prince, my sleeping beauty, it wouldn't have mattered if he were a man or a woman, it was that something that clung to his being, the loyalty, the gentle power that made me love him. I bet I never tell him, but as I watch his chest rise and fall, I can believe that the acid wouldn't eat me completely. It can't eat the part of me that loves him. 


	2. illusion

Blood in the Rain 2/? By Nix Winter  
  
Disclaimers: I don't own Saiyuki and I know very well I should be writing about Taylish and Opal, other characters that I do own, and I will.  
  
Warnings: Neeeeee.. I have written het stuff, but only for money. Well, except for Reasons to be Queen, that is. I write shonen ai, because. some bent in my own soul, some acid in my own blood makes me crave the equality in same sex relationships, some hope for trust, I think. However, as I write this, I am edging towards more of an equal opportunity gender preference. This Gojyo he loves this Hakkai because of the loyalty, trust, purity of Hakkai and it really would not have mattered what Hakkai's gender was. I don't know if Gojyo would want to have children anyway, given the harshness their world gives to mixed breed people. Anyway. so I'm learning as I write this, if you enjoy reading it as well, then the life has given me more than I expected.  
  
Neee. and these bits are going to be short. sorry.  
  
Part Two  
  
My fingers twitched for a cigarette. Six days into this rescue mission, and I'd been around the mental hamster wheel too many times to count. It would have been different if he'd died. I mean, get attracted to some guy who's dying, he dies, no one ever knows, you forget about it, it's not so bad. But. He's not going to die. My fingers want to touch his hair again, more than they want a cigarette.  
  
You see, I have this image of me in my head, and I like it. Those empty words from that woman, her thinking my hair and eyes are beautiful, empty words that drove me into the forest in the rain, they were words I used to bleed my living out of the world. I have beautiful hair, beautiful eyes. I can trace my fingers down the lines of my stomach if I hold it tight. I have a beautiful body. Guys like me aren't cheap, you know.  
  
Maybe that's part of this delusion of mine. Guys aren't attracted to guys. They're not. So he even if he did wake up, he wouldn't want to be near me because I have beautiful eyes, killer hair. He wouldn't care about that. He's a guy.  
  
"If this is Hell; Hell is very common place," he said, voice that slipped passed all my guards, my expectations. If his voice had been female, here's where the walls would have sprung back up, I think. That first time I heard his voice, maybe that's when my walls really cracked.  
  
"Well, excuse me for keeping the place so plain!" He caught me by surprise though, laying there in my bed, when his eyes opened the first time, looking at the mess of my beer and magazines. Green eyes, jewels, so not what I expected.  
  
The words came out almost as a taunt and I was leaning forward, hands on the bed on either side of his head, and gods, I just had to look at those eyes. I'd expected them to be brown, like his hair, not these green windows into a soul I wasn't good enough to touch. I needed my walls! "You sure took your sweet time waking up."  
  
Distance, like those eyes were hot, some kind of green fire, and Gojyo found himself sitting, back to the bed, cigarette pack smacking against his fingers. No touching brown hair again, never again. Cigarettes would have to do. "The doctor said you needed your rest and I couldn't smoke. Well, I'm smoking now. Believe me! You got that!"  
  
"Go right ahead," he said, that same gentle loyalty like a mist around his words, tolerant and so fucking real, kind, genuine.  
  
For just a second, I think that acid of frustrated hate in my blood will boil over. But then, we're talking. He's drinking my coffee and telling me about Her. Days slip by, so natural and so easy.  
  
If someday, I'm sitting in the rain, maybe I'll think about these conversations. It goes like this. I say something. He listens, and says something back. He ain't trying to get something from me, ain't trying to sell me something. And as the days passed between us, I couldn't believe two things. One, he could beat me at cards. No one beats me at cards. And two, he knew.  
  
He knows I'm attracted to him. Maybe he can see my pulse beat faster when he wakes up, or when I hand him coffee. He's not human, so maybe he can fucking smell my attraction to him. He just smiles back at me, no revulsion, no returning of my attraction either. That's best, I guess. I mean, if he wanted to make like rabbits with me, it would be empty, wouldn't it? Just pretty hair, pretty eyes, not cheap. He smiles too much. When he smiles, it makes my guts dance around, my breath flicker, and then I smile back like some dumb ass kid. He knows. I know he knows.  
  
I wouldn't know how to kiss him, even if he'd let me. I mean. When I kiss a girl, I'm thinking. how do I touch her to make her whimper and sigh, I'm thinking, how do I keep the illusion that I'm beautiful, that I've valuable. How do I kiss someone, if maybe, just maybe, it's not an illusion?  
  
He smiles at me. He wants to talk.  
  
"You leaving?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
How do I ask to kiss someone if it's not an illusion? 


End file.
